Bowling was rumored to be an easy and fun way to get in some required physical education hours.

Three of my friends and I signed up.

We arrived at the bowling alley for the first class of the semester.

“If you’ve never bowled before, come back here and watch a film for the first two classes,” our instructor said.

My friends, all of whom had bowling experience, had another idea.

“Don’t watch the film,” they said. “Just stick with us. We’ll show you how and she’ll never know you haven’t bowled before.”

So I just picked up a bowling ball and did what my friends did.

The last day of the semester, the teacher came by to just check in, see how we were doing. She stood and watched as I picked up a ball.

“Have you held the ball that way this whole semester?” she said.

Indeed, I had. But my friends assured her I’d not been a bad bowler.

“Wrong fingers,” she said, but still gave me credit for the class.

And I’d not bowled since until two weeks ago at Rebel Lanes.

When I chose my ball, a lovely blue eight-pounder, I immediately picked it up with my thumb and first two fingers. But then Mrs. Newman’s words from the past shook my memory – “wrong fingers.”

For two hours, I bowled with correct fingering. Can’t say it made much difference – I bowled some strikes; I bowled some spares; and many times my lovely blue bowling ball headed straight for the gutter.

I discovered that I hook a bowling ball exactly like I hook a golf ball.